I Want To Break Free: The Story of A Special Foot

This week we had to say goodbye to an old friend; a constant in our lives. The farewell was hugely anticipated and yet seemed to take us by surprise when it finally arrived. This week has witnessed the end of my daughter's nocturnal partnership with her "boots and bars".

Magic Shoes

For those who don't know, my daughter's rather difficult pregnancy resulted in her having been born with a "unilateral talipes" (to give it its medical title) or a "club foot" (to give it its rather archaic, colloquial term). It meant that, having been deprived of the the luxury of growing room in the womb, when she emerged all pink and shrivelled like a baby mole the sole of her foot was turned up towards her face like a flower seeking out the warmth of the sun. A pretty analogy but not much use to walk on.

We were forearmed on this one as when our 20 week "anomaly scan" had discovered just that the local health service had a plan and within a week of diagnosis they had packaged us off to meet the specialist physiotherapist at the children's hospital. Still grieving the loss of our "normal" child, we were ushered into the treatment room to discuss the next steps (so to speak) only to be abruptly woken from our self pity by the multitude of cupboards entitled "airway equipment", "cystic fibrosis essentials" and "mobility aids". This was by no means a worst case scenario; this issue was both rectifiable and non life threatening. Whilst we were warned that our child was unlikely to compete at an Olympic level or a perform as a professional ballerina she would walk, she would skip, she would run but more than that; she would live.

Totes profesh

So after she came along we trotted off to meet with our foot guru and have our new arrival assessed in person. The foot was no better nor worse than the physio had expected based on the scan and, as discussed antenatally, she would require a series of full length leg casts to slowly manipulate the foot from its turned in position towards a more natural sole- to- the- floor appearance. Now, keeping a full length cast on a wriggly baby is no mean feat (pardon the pun) and there were multiple occasions over the next 12 weeks when we would have to run to the hospital brandishing a cast in one hand and a startled baby under the other; desperately proclaiming that all the efforts would be undone were it not put back on in an instant. When we did eventually make it through the first 3 months and it was finally time for the big reveal we were delighted with the results. She had a matching pair!

However, we were then informed that she would need an operation to remedy her excruciatingly tight achilles tendon before the next stage of treatment could commence. So at the tender age of 12 weeks we presented her for her pre-op assessment having kept her nil by mouth for what felt like an inhumane amount of time for one so small. They too seemed to recognise this and she was put first on the operating list. We were relieved and terrified in equal measure. When invited to accompany her down to the anaesthetic room I could not face it and selflessly let the husband fulfil the role. He eventually reappeared looking haunted. He recanted the tale of how she had been all fighting spirit and then was gone; a limp doll only vaguely recognisable as our precious little girl.

Needless to say, several hours later we were informed that the operation had been a success and her last full length cast had been applied. Two weeks later, our relief at finishing the series of casts was short lived, as she was then strapped into her first set of "boots and bars". This apparatus was initially to be worn 23 hours of the day for a 12 week period before being reduced to 12 hours of the day until she was 5 years of age. 

She did not care for this.

Following her first fitting we decided to go for a family day out taking in the fresh sea air and a pub lunch. Being like any other 4 month old she opted to perform her necessary ablutions in her car seat resulting in every nook and crevice being infiltrated and a full strip and hose down essential and yet nigh on impossible in our current surroundings. My husband gamely took her into the nearest accessible toilets and attempted to liberate her from her new apparatus and rectify the situation. From my seat in the bar I issued apologetic looks to the other customers who were hostage to the ensuing cacophony erupting from the nearby facilities as my daughter let her feelings be known. Husband staggered out, battle weary and downed his (now tepid) coffee. It was home time.

Broken. Just broken. 

Having said that I honestly cannot recall another time when the boots and bars were truly an issue. Our little girl has always been open to reason and whilst she has questioned whether she had to don them yet again, she has always been amenable and understood the long term goal. Our long standing night time routine of bath, teeth, toilet, boots and bars, book and bed has become second nature and even the youngest has taken on the role of clicking the bar into place for his big sister before storytime. For us, it was normal but as the date of completion emerged on the horizon I saw, perhaps for the first time, how desperate she was to rid herself of her nocturnal companions.

The countdown was on.

5 years worth of "boots and bars"

Realistically there was no obvious reason why further time or manipulation would be recommended. She had passed every quarterly check with flying colours. She could run, hop and skip with the best of them. So, against my nature, I was cautiously optimistic where she was terrified. As ever, terrified of failure and of letting others down. She needn't have been. She received a big fat stamp of approval and was released on parole.

A happier child you never did see.

That smile. 

So now we are acclimatising to our new normal. It is taking some time and there are still occasions when we have taken our positions on the couch before realising that there is no apparatus required. In some ways I miss the feeling of having a defined, tangible role in helping her with the physical burdens she has to bear but these feelings are quickly dispelled by the sound of the pitter patter of her (unusually) tiny feet in the morning as she gets herself out of bed for the first time in 5 years. 

If: An Ode to the Mother

If you are familiar with Kipling's poem "If" where he describes the attributes required to be a grown up then I can only apologise. I have pillaged his fine verse and manipulated it to describe the attributes required to be a mother... 

If you are a member of the PTA or NCT, I do apologise. You are lovely people really. 

If you can't keep your head when mums about you   

    Are losing theirs and terrifying you,   

If you can't cope when your NCT doubt you,

    And make no allowance for their choice too;   

If you can wait - but be so tired of waiting,

    And make up lies -  but not be duped by lies,

Or have mated, but can't mind ever mating,

    And never look good, nor ever be wise:

Never look good

If you can't dream, when passed out on the pillow;   

    If you can't think— yet are always on, go!   

If you can't face the PTA once again

    And yet treat those impostors just the same;   

If you can't bear to hear your clichés spoken

    Uttered despite promising to be "cool",

Or watch the things you have treasured be broken,

    And stoop to pick ’em up. Life can be cruel!

A dreamless sleep

If you can ignore the big heap of washing

   And rake through it for a top without sauce, 

And fail, leaving the house filthy for shopping

    And whilst dreading bumping into your boss;

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew

    To answer cries in the dark around two,   

And stay awake when there's nothing left in you

    But the sheer need to protect this life, new.

New life

If you have the will to "pretend" one more time, 

    Or watch as food coats the walls where hands touch,

If dealing with the toddler poop now seems fine,

  And midnight vomit is much of a much. 

If all of your clothes either stretch or "control", 

    Your unwashed hair is scraped back in a bun;

If you can quote all six of the Paw Patrol, 

    Whilst navigating the morning's school run,   

Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,   

    And—which is more—you’ll be a stressed out Mum!

Oh the stress... 

Some Day I'll Be Saturday Night: The Week That Never Ends

Well it has been quite the week on the rodeo of life that is parenting small children. The universe seemed to delight in making the stars align in such a way that an astrological apocalypse was created, if you believe in that sort of thing, interfering with my week as a working mother of two young children.

Let me walk you through it:

Monday

As we were on the 2.5 mile round trip to school, the wheel of the pram (and sole transportation device for the highly time pressured morning drop off) snapped beyond repair leaving it to limp sadly along the road with an air of Del Boy's Reliant Robin. Having coaxed it back down the hill and waved my husband and the The Toddler off to coax it home, I headed into the office to start my working week. As I settled myself down to work, opening my laptop and passing some light chit chat with my colleagues about the weekends events (theirs lavish and fun-filled, mine protracted and potty-based) I answered the phone to a rather distressed husband who, upon returning home had discovered that we were imminently about to be revisited by all of our son’s contributions to the family reunion in Pooland and was requesting the number of a "decent drain man". I have quite the little black book, clearly.

Tuesday

I woke with renewed optimism as the drains had been remedied and a new wheel was winging its way to us in the post. This was extremely fortunate as it was a day when optimism would be crucial as I had to run the gauntlet that is swimming lessons; solo. Now you may think that I am being overly dramatic and I am sure that there are parents in their droves who routinely deal with two small children in a swimming pool without too much anguish whatsoever. However I am not one of them. Dealing with two hungry, grumpy, slippery dictators who are reluctant to leave the fun of the pool never mind help in their drying and dressing is akin to wrangling a lubricated, enraged octopus into a leather one piece. Twice.

In all honesty though, the ordeal of swimming was merely the cherry on the top of this day following our impromptu voyage into town after the school drop off. Mixing a borderline potty trained toddler who has a penchant for trying out all the local facilities available to him with the first real cold snap of the year (rendering his bladder overactive and thimble sized) was, perhaps in hindsight, a touch cavalier but you will recall that I was feeling somewhat optimistic that morning. Having merely vacated the third premises a matter of moments earlier, the toddler emitted a shriek for "potty!" at such a pitch that it would have been injudicious of me to ignore his plea. The nearest convenience was (inconveniently) four floors above and only accessible by a single lift which moved at the pace of a fatigued snail so by the time we reached our destination the toddler was shedding clothes at a terrifying rate of knots as he ran towards his target. I too, ditched everything I was carrying in order to airlift him onto the receptacle in time.

We made it. My phone? Not so much.

Wednesday

Wednesday was a fiasco from beginning to end. My mother routinely treks across the country to provide childcare for us on a Wednesday thereby allowing me to hold down some form of employment without bankrupting ourselves on nursery fees. Today however, an ill judged petits four after lunch with the girls on the preceding day had resulted in a fractured front crown and a trip to the emergency dentist which meant I was left to partake in a business call with my youngest attempting to sit on my head. Totes profesh.

Thursday

Thursday was doomed before it began. I returned from a late hospital appointment the previous evening to the news that The Toddler was lurgy filled, spiking a temperature, intolerant of everybody and everything and, as a result, had taken to his bed at an unprecedented early hour. We settled on half hourly checks (never ones to overreact) and my mother called at half past ten to relay her concerns of meningitis. Needless to say sleep was sparse. It was determined prior to his waking that a GP visit was essential so the husband delayed his own GP duties to drop the Big One off at school to allow me to partake in the ridiculous system that our medical practice operates whereby patients must present on the morning to be seen as part of a triage system. With a two hour wait ahead of us (and a mandatory training course on the other side of the country beckoning) I was a touch frustrated to see the toddler terrorising the rest of the waiting room as "Spider Max" showing no signs of being anything other than brimming with health and vitality.

Damn you child.

Friday

Husband had to go away for the weekend and I was entirely understanding right up until the point that there was a double danger nap. At five o'clock. Enough said.

Saturday

Today is still ongoing and whilst I generally like to remain open minded, being that this day started at four thirty and has involved liquid poop I feel that perhaps I should just submit and wait until the stars shift or Mars does its retrograde thing.

Tomorrow is a new day.

Come Together: Selling the Idea of Group Parenting

Now I don't want to make anyone nervous or fear that I am trying to indoctrinate you into some sort of cult which requires the sacrifice of a first born at every new moon but I have recently been thinking about the advantages of communal living. Bear with me.

We have been staying at my in law's house with my sister-in-law, her husband and their newborn daughter. Now, a hyperactive 4 year old, a somewhat impassioned 2 year old and an infant who is trying to come to terms with not being physically cocooned within her mother being couped up in the one house may seem, from the outside, chaotic or perhaps even a tad stressful. Honestly though, it wasn't. In this situation the adults far outnumbered the children and there were six pairs of hands to three demanding bodies which meant that adult ablutions could be done in private, hot drinks could be consumed whilst still above room temperature and role play could be evenly distributed thereby reducing any one person's suffering to tolerable levels. 

Many hands make less role play

Communal living meant that my husband and I could run together for an hour everyday. Now I realise that this might not be everyone's chosen activity when given a hour to one's self so replace "run" with "soak in the bath", "reading a book" or "catching up on the side bar of shame" if that's your bag, but it gave us the chance to chat, shoot the breeze, wax lyrically about our amazing children like we actually loved them and not through gritted teeth. Living with other people gives you the ability to do these things. Every single day! 

It also allowed me to take the edge off my ever present craving to "go again" by inhaling the newborn's scent and stroking their tiny, hairy limbs whilst they slept in a frog like position on my chest. I had all the joys of an infant without the torturous sleep deprivation, swampy feeling around the chesticles, drenching night sweats and tender undercarriage of days gone by. The new parents also got the opportunity to savour naps during the day, safe in the knowledge that, should their beloved progeny stir, there would be a number of loving bodies vying for the position of Chief Cuddler until they awoke from their slumber.

Just taking a big whiff...

The children seemed to thrive too. They soaked up the various sources of attention as efficiently as my socks soak up the errant urine around the toilet bowl whilst my son potty trains. In other circumstances when we have lived with other parents whose children are of similar ages and temperaments there have even been brief periods where we have been left to, hold on to your hats people, chat. 

The negatives (and we always knew there had to be some) would be rather vigorous selection process that would be involved. Your parenting prowess would need to be on par as you couldn't have Nigel and Bev from NCT consistently showing you up with their prodigy who has slept 10 hours a night since conception, gifts his finest cuddly toys to the local dog shelter as a matter of principle and is a self taught concert pianist by the age of 4. You need to find yourselves some parenting kindred spirits. 

In our case we are looking for a couple who rate fun and kindness over etiquette and tidiness. We need a couple who can appease an irate toddler while teaching a preschooler about evolution, gravity and breast feeding (she has some questions.) In return we can offer some strong voices during story time, a relaxed approach to feeding time and methods and a love of an early night, thereby freeing our alternates up for some nanights on the tiles whilst we hold down the communal fort.

We have even kept an eye out
for nearby properties

Nigel and Bev need not apply.

Another Brick in the Wall: My Relationship with Nursery

I have a love/hate relationship with my children's nursery. This involves me swinging from intense periods of frustration when empty threats of pulling the offspring from the environment in which they are settled are thrown in the direction of a husband whom I know won't hold me to it, to periods of enormous appreciation for all that they do to mould my children into polite members of society whilst maintain their individuality.

Nursery: helps that it is a beautiful building

I have a somewhat chequered past with the nursery due to an incident when I may have struggled to mask my disappointment (read "hulked out") at an aspect of their care provision having arrived to collect my hyperactive 18month old, who was in the process of dropping her nap, and been informed that she had had a "really good sleep" that day. Curious, I enquired what constitutes a "good sleep" in their eyes only to be told that she had been allowed to doze for over 3 hours. "Why?" I asked utterly incredulous. "Because it's Friday." They replied.

Hulked Out

Now, when solo parenting a routinely poor sleeper for the weekend after a busy working week, being given the news that your day has just been extended by a solid 3 hours is something of a disappointment. I may have let on that I wasn't best pleased and despite being 3 room changes and 3 years down the line I am fully aware that my reputation as a "difficult parent" within the nursery precedes me.

However, since learning of my daughter's brief foray into the world of bullies and having to report it to those in charge I have discovered a new found respect for the teaching staff in the pre-school. Whilst there may be instances of laziness peppered throughout the nursery there are also some truly gifted educators with whom I am loathe to part from, never mind my daughter.

Her time at preschool is coming to an end

On learning of her struggle to understand why her beloved best friend would utter such callous and cruel comments leaving her insecure and lacking in confidence and sense of self, her teacher formulated a plan to both buoy her up quietly and consistently while showing the other child that she was not the top dog without obvious penalising her. There were open conversation between the three of them where feelings were openly discussed and apologies invited, circle time where the class would discuss their unique differences and close observation during periods of free play. However, the latest and potentially most lucrative part of the plan involved bestowing the lead role in the pre-school production to my daughter. A play which conveniently weaves a tale conveying the sentiment that size is irrelevant in the grand scheme of things and that even the smallest of bodies can house the greatest of spirits and the strongest of wills.

Making Julia Donaldson proud

This particular act has gone a long way to restoring her, previously robust, self esteem and ensured that she enter her school environment happy and confident, safe in the knowledge that she really is pretty awesome. 

Enter Sandman: The Nighttime Negotiation

It is a truth universally acknowledged that, following an Oscar worthy performance of surprise when the allotted bed time hour rolls around, a toddler will resolutely refuse to go to sleep on those evenings on which you need them to most. These evenings include, but are not limited to:

1. When you have cobbled together enough energy and enthusiasm for a rare night out and have promised the rather shell shocked looking babysitter that the children will be asleep for the duration.

2. Following a particularly hard day at the office (be it actual, home or metaphorical); when you have expended every last ounce of patience placating Nora the office nag/Nigel from accounts/Ned the tyrannical toddler.

3. When you have any form of urgent, non toddler friendly activity to undertake e.g. the home hair dye when you are less roots and more bad ombre, any computer based activity (see bill paying, blogging, on line shopping, etc.), long overdue marital relations (oh it feels good to laugh.)

These are the evenings on which the toddler will take it upon themselves to inhabit the role of cocaine addled Wall Street banker circa 1985. Their meticulously choreographed bedtime revolt will undoubtedly follow five similar stages to those of grief:

Stage One: Denial

At the mere mention of bed the toddler will instantly find great interest in a previously ignored plaything, probably previously relegated to the bottom of the over filled toy box which they will undoubtedly need to violently ransack to locate afore mentioned object. This toy shall utterly consume them to the point that they will be unable to hear repeated requests to brush their teeth, use the potty or stop torturing the family pet.

"Bedtime you say? We're off..."

Stage Two: Anger

At the point in which you need to step in and physically extricate them from the situation, proffer the toothpaste laden brush towards their person and plop them on the urine receptacle they shall mount one of two responses:

(1)   Writhe around like a fish on dry land until you are forced to put them down for fear of dropping them (which would only serve to delay bed time further – eyes on the prize, people.)

(2)   Full body plank with such rigidity that you fear rigor mortis has set in.

He is a wily character...

Stage Three: Bargaining

If your toddler has mastered the art of verbal communication they will likely attempt to play on your emotions, weakened by the day’s events and guilt for your unfettered joy at the potential of parting with your beloved offspring, you will likely be wholly susceptible to their doe eyes, petted lips and pleads for “just one more stowy” (knowing full well that they can pronounce the ‘r’s’ with aplomb when they are demanding rice cakes, raisins and Raa Raa the Reprehensible Lion.) Should your toddler be yet to vocalise they will employ their inner thespian, using the body as a tool to pluck at your heart strings. There will be clammy hands thrown around the neck, deep and desperate cuddles that make you feel indispensable; the absolute definition of their continued wellbeing. You will be convinced that a few minutes more body contact will eventually result in a bedtime without reproach. You will be wrong though.  

Just 5 more minutes....

Stage Four: Depression

The tears will flow. And flow. Then they will ebb, and you may even get hopeful, but then they will flow. You shall wait outside the door listening to their anguished cries citing your failure to love them as the reason that they can no longer go on. You will feel bad.

You will feel (and potentially look) bad

Stage Five: Acceptance

The good news is that no child has actually stayed up all night (don’t quote me on that) and they will eventually tire themselves out and have to submit to slumber. There is, however, the distinct possibility that by the time this happens you will have missed the event you were meant to be attending, witnessed your babysitter running for the hills with arms flailing or fallen asleep yourself.

   ...and relax

Sorry about that.  

Just Another Manic Monday: A Day in the Life of a Two Year Old

I scare myself half to death at 5am when I attempt to pass wind and get a little bit more than I bargained for so I decide to communicate dissatisfaction at being so rudely awakened to the rest of the household. I mean, they would want to know about it and it's not like they are doing anything else. Plus, I can't go back to sleep now; what if it happens again?! This nappy can only take so much. They do seem to be taking their time responding to my summons though, maybe I need to take this up a notch? Really ramp up the anguished, blood curdling shriek I have going. Ah wait, yes here she is. Why does she ricochet off the wall like that? It's almost like she hasn't been poised; ready to react at a moment's notice to my beckon call. Odd.

Anyway, a cuddle. Oh this is nice, so warm and soft. Maybe the world isn't such a terrible place. Maybe I will make it to the morning alive. Hey! Hang on! Why are you putting me back down? Oh hell no. This is not happening. Pick me up woman. What on earth do you think you are doing? I know, I'll throw a few agonised "Mummy"s into the mix, clench these clammy hands round her neck and she'll soon crack. That's it, well done. Now, head towards the door. Good work. Your bedroom is that way. Great.

Oh! Daddy? I never realised you were here. You can leave now. I've got this. There is a bed in my room. We'll see you in the morning.

If anyone is looking for me this is where I'll be

Mummy? Why are you closing your eyes? Mummy? Mummy! Mummy! Oh good, there you are. What's that? Oh a picture? Really? Interesting. Oh Mummy! Sorry you were closing your eyes again and I had something really important to ask you; what's that?! Still a picture? Wow. Mummy? Mummy! Hi, me again. Just checking, what's that? Did you say lesser spotted woodpecker? No. Picture? Huh. There you go.

It's all love really Mummy

Well that was a really fun two hours in your bed Mummy. I know you weren't too into the routine eyes checks I was performing but one can never been too careful (or forceful.) It paid dividends when you relented and let me watch Go Jetters on the "Tapper". Don't be too harsh on yourself, after all, it is educational. Did you know that Loch Ness holds more water than all of the lakes and rivers in England and Wales combined? A real live unicorn taught me that.

I don't mean to criticise but I think you really need to work on your listening. I don't know why you thought I wanted the Cheerios, yoghurt or toast for breakfast. I was very clearly just practising my ability to say those words and nod in an assenting fashion. Of course I didn't actually want them. I thought you would have realised that when I watched you prepare them and didn't say anything. Not one word. I mean if you aren't going to listen to me then I will have to show you; across the wall.

Raspberries were clearly what we wanted

Talking of walls, I really think you are being more than a little contradictory. Yesterday you were allowing me, no, joining me in decorating the stone walls in the garden with our unique "Banksy" stylings but today? Today, you seemed to be more than a little disgruntled when I tried to introduce my creative flair to your rather pedestrian walls in the hallway. Pick a side people!

Did it not speak to your soul?

I did enjoy our little trip to my sister's ballet lesson though. Sure, I vocalised my scorn for the mobile baby cage for the duration of our journey there but when we arrived I had the best time mixing with the other siblings whilst we waited for her return. I know you question this as apparently the shrieks of "mine!" came across as quite hostile but I thought my enthusiastic rugby tackles against those who were showing interest in my ball were heartfelt? Wouldn't Daddy be proud of me? No? Well I am struggling to see the difference.

I don't understand why we can't use the baby carrier! Do you not love me anymore?!

Lunch? Lunch is for losers; as is sleep. Do you even know how old I am? Two. Two whole years. Basically, I have seen all of this before and I have more than enough energy to last the day. Just give me the milk and be done with it lady. Ah milk. The sweet nectar of the gods.

I think I have a milk problem

Our afternoon was fun! Painting! You are quite literally the bravest person I know, and I know at least 12 people. I hope you liked the many variations of brown that I managed to concoct. I really am quite proud of myself. When life gives you a rainbow pallet make brown, that is what I say. I could tell you were a little nervous when I started using my fingers, then my palms before moving on to my feet and my nose but you handled yourself well. I could barely tell. The dog from next door says hello by the way, he tells me that when you make that particular noise it reminds him of his mother when she was trapped in the well.

Do you see the way I have captured the depth of "stick brown"?

Bath time followed swiftly especially after I doused myself in the soup which you presented at dinner. It was perhaps a little harsh to hold me at arm's length while you whisked me into the bathroom and slightly confusing when you shouted at me for trying to wash my hands in that big sink that you all sit on. I can't seem to do right for doing wrong sometimes. I did enjoy the bubbles though and helping my sister wash her hair, even if she wasn't initially inclined. Her chanting my name really boosted my confidence so I ignored her wriggles, pouts and intermittent "stop it"s. Go with your gut I say.

Daddy's arrival home soon followed so I managed to get my horse riding practice in. He really needs to work on his lateral movements though or we are never going to place in the dressage finals this year. He tries his best though so I gave him his treat and let him read the book about the Ladybird to me again. He bloody loves that book and seems to get a kick out of me saying all the animal noises. Bless him. I have noticed that sometimes he pretends to show interest in other titles and will on occasion pretend to be unable to find that yellow book but I soon find an image of it on one of Julia's other volumes and he feigns annoyance but I know he loves it really.

This is me, just practising a timely "Moo"

Bedtime once again, who knew? Certainly not me, I mean there was dinner then water play then our beloved book, teeth, nappy change, sleep sack but to be honest this declaration that it is time for some shut eye is coming a little left field. I have a few thoughts on the matter that I would be more than happy to voice to you through my closed door. I know you appreciate the feedback. I'll sleep on the rest and get back to you in the morning. 5am work? Brilliant. See you then Mummy. 

Love you.